I need to dream. Last night, the full moon rose in golden glory and touched the sea with rare splendour. There was a strange beauty in the moonlit waves and the luminous night, a beauty that made me whisper: everything that lives is holy. For the light lives too. Yes, it does live.
My picture below is not of the sea at night but of the day sea. It is an image of peace, of something rich and strange. Having just written about the Syrian Hell, my soul is striving to heal itself by summoning beauty and and the power to dream. Why does Shakespeare come to one’s mind when all seems almost lost to drowning? Syria needs a sea change, I whisper to myself again and again. Syria needs to change a sea change. Without something rich there is going to be no hope.